


The Dinner Invitation

by cactusnell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusnell/pseuds/cactusnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend from Uni invites Molly to a romantic dinner, and everybody is concerned about how Sherlock will take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dinner Invitation

Sherlock Holmes was alone in his flat on Baker Street, which was an unusual occurrence for a Saturday evening. Certainly, a considerable percentage of the single population would have been out with a companion, or out looking for a companion, but Sherlock had neither the need, nor the inclination, to do so. He was not a social animal, but he had, in these past few years, grown accustomed to a certain level of camaraderie, originally provided by his best friend and flatmate, John Watson. But, John had found himself another flatmate, it seemed. one who provided services in addition to simply companionship, one of these services involving the production of offspring. So, in the absence of John in his life, Sherlock had looked to Dr. Molly Hooper to provide a certain level of the togetherness he had grown to crave, and she had been more than happy to oblige. Their lives had settled into a routine, Sherlock often spending an evening or two at Molly’s flat, sharing food and watching telly, and Molly spending her Saturday evenings with Sherlock at his flat, providing assistance with the occasional experiment, and an audience for his occasional diatribes about the general incompetence of the police force, the government, the national health system, British Rail, and anything else that piqued his ire. But Molly was not in attendance this evening, and Sherlock was bored. And irritated. And, though he would admit it to no one, least of all himself, lonely.

The first sign that there may have been something unusual about Molly’s absence this evening had been when Mrs. Hudson ascended to the flat, tea tray in hand. This was actually not an unwelcome sight, as the detective always enjoyed a good cuppa. But it begged the question of how his landlady knew that Molly Hooper would not be around this evening to brew some herself. And why was she setting the tea service out on the coffee table, making ready to join him herself. Obviously, she knew about Molly’s absence, but Sherlock himself had only just been informed by Dr. Hooper in the last hour or so that she would not be coming over tonight.

“Mrs. Hudson, while I am grateful for the tea, I find myself in a bit of a quandary about how you knew that Molly was not going to be here this evening. Care to explain?”

“Oh, Sherlock, she called a little while ago, asking me to, well, sort of, eh, keep you company this evening. Is there anything you’d like to do, love? Watch some telly, maybe?” The woman look a bit concerned.

“Why would I need someone to keep me company, Mrs. H. I am perfectly capable of being on my own. I do not require a babysitter!”

“Of course not, dear! I never meant to imply that you did! Now drink your tea, and have a biscuit,” the elderly woman said as she spread a serviette over the lap of the man sitting next to her on the couch. “I suppose we’ll be doing a lot more of this, if Molly’s evening goes well.”

“I have no idea what you mean, Mrs. Hudson. Why shouldn’t Molly’s evening go well? She’s meeting an old friend from Uni, a nurse called Chris, as I recall. Two women chatting about inanities until the wee hours…”

“Oh, Sherlock, I didn’t take you as being sexist like that. Chris may be a nurse, but he’s well, a ‘he’, isn’t he? It’s about time she got on with things, don’t you think, Sherlock? After that whole Tom fiasco! And Moriarty, too, I suppose…”

“Molly Hooper is on a date?”

“Yes, of course. I remember when you and John used to go out…”

Sherlock sighed deeply. “Not gay. Either of us. Not now, not ever. But do go on, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Well, this Chris person called Molly just yesterday. In town only for a short time, it seems. But so eager to see her again. Molly seemed rather excited, too. It’s really nice to think of her finding a nice, young man, isn’t it?”

“What’s the matter with me, then? She cancelled out on me to see this Chris person…”

“Well, Sherlock, I don’t know. You are rather, well, young...ish, I suppose. But you’re hardly our Molly’s type, are you?”

“What do you mean by that, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Well, Molly is so warm, affectionate. And you’re, well, you’re not, are you Sherlock? And Molly likes men, and well, I suppose maybe you do have that in common…”

“Mrs. Hudson!!!” Sherlock was now shouting at the poor woman when his train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of his brother, Mycroft, an occurrence wholly unexpected, and definitely unappreciated.

“Good evening, brother. Please stop shouting at the poor woman, as elder abuse is severely frowned upon in this country.” Mycroft looked down at the array of biscuits arranged neatly on the tea tray, and made himself at home, while Mrs. Hudson went down to her flat to find another cup and saucer. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mycroft? Have you a case for me? Or has Anthea finally finished with you?”

“Really, Sherlock, my Anthea is currently visiting her mother in hospital, so I found myself free this evening. Care for a game of Cluedo?”

“Best beware, then, brother, as I have recently been made aware that male nurses are extremely predatory, and a hospital would make an estimable hunting ground!”

“Ah, I see you’ve heard about this Chris person, then?”  
“Why are you really here, Mycroft? Did Molly ask you to keep me company, also?”

“Not at all. I came of my own volition. I know what a creature of habit you are, brother mine. And I thought that the idea of you pathologist socializing with another man might, well, play upon your nerves, to some degree. But, I must admit, that I rather like the idea that Dr. Hooper is coming out of her shell again. It would be a shame for such an exemplary woman to spend her life alone. The idea of her meeting a nice, young man…”

“Stop! Did you and Mrs. Hudson rehearse that speech, Mycroft? The whole ‘nice, young man’ thing. What is the matter with her spending her evenings with me…”

“Well, nothing, per se. You could be considered, well, young...ish, I suppose.”

‘What about ‘nice’! I can be nice!”

Mycroft gave him a look suggesting that, quite possibly, his ears were deceiving him, but the detective pressed on. “And why are you people assuming that I would have trouble dealing with the fact that Molly Hooper is on a date? Aside from the fact that I had advised her to retire from such activities on a permanent basis? It is entirely up to Dr. Hooper is she chooses to ignore my advice, well-meaning that it is…”

“And self-serving,” Mycroft muttered under his breath.

“What? I didn’t quite catch that, Mycroft. Do speak up!” But the detective’s expression made it abundantly clear that he had, indeed, heard his brother disparaging remark. “Anyway, since you’re here…”

“Good lord, Sherlock, I didn’t know you were throwing a party!” Mary Watson spoke cheerfully as she and her husband, along with baby Claire, made their way into the flat. 

Sherlock rounded on her and John. “Let me guess! You somehow found out that Molly Hooper is on a date with a predatory Lothario deceptively named Chris, and have come here to babysit me! You are concerned that left to my own devices for a single Saturday evening, I will become self-destructive, and resort to overdosing on Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits!”

“Yeah, that was pretty much my concern, mate,” John said, calmly reaching for one of the biscuits in question. ‘Mary, though, thought you might take a run at this Chris guy…”

“Really, John, and how can I do that? Unless someone were to tell me where he has taken my pathologist…” And, saying this, his eyes traveled from face to face, looking for a sign that one of the these people, his friends, would know, and tell, the location of his pathologist’s tryst.

Mycroft looked him dead in the eye as he said, in an even tone, “I have no idea, brother.’ Sherlock didn’t quite believe him, knowing that Mycroft Holmes knew everything there was to know about everyone in the room. But if his brother had chosen not to tell him, he never would. Next he moved on to Mrs. Hudson, who answered his unasked question. “I have no idea, dear. She did say it was somewhere nice, but that’s all, really.”

Next was John, his best friend, who looked at him, shook his head, “Sorry, mate, much as I’d like to see Molly punch you right in the nose for messing up her date, I just don’t know. And now, the hell with tea, I need a Scotch! Mycroft?” But Mycroft Holmes was already scouring the cabinet for the elixir in question.

Sherlock slowly turned to his best, and final, hope, Mary Watson. The innocent picture of a madonna and child, cradling her little daughter in her arms as she refused to meet his eyes. “Mary?”

“I have no idea, Sherlock.” She glanced at the coffee table.

“Mary?”

“Oh my, look at the time! Would you mind if I put Claire down in your bed, Sherlock?”

“MARY?!?” His shout caused Mrs. Hudson to jump a bit, but John and Mycroft were too engrossed in their Scotch to notice.

“Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester, reservation at eight-thirty. Please don’t tell her I told you, s  
Sherlock. I’ve heard she packs a mean wallop!”

“I can certainly vouch for that, Mary!”, the tall man with the curls said as he grabbed his Belstaff and headed for the door. “There’s another bottle under the sink, John. Enjoy!”, and he was gone.

Molly Hooper sat at a quiet table at the exclusive French restaurant, more taken by the elegant surroundings than by the attractive man sitting across from her. She hadn’t seen Chris Higgins since shortly after their days at uni, and even then they had simply been close friends, although she had always gotten the impression that he had wanted to be something more. He was of medium height, medium build, medium coloring, medium intelligence. Medium everything, it would seem. She had been intrigued when he had called out of the blue, wanting to see her after all these years. The evening had started off well enough with drinks, but there was no magic, just as there had been none all those years ago, and both of them had recognized the fact almost immediately, he a bit more reluctantly than she. Chris had done well for himself, parlaying his nursing education into owning a private nurses’ registry, so Molly felt little or no guilt about wining and dining her way through almost a week’s wages at the exclusive restaurant. Chris found himself telling her more and more about the woman with who he had just broken up, and Molly had been herself regaling him with stories about the world’s only consulting detective. It soon became readily apparent to both of them that each was there with the wrong person. Be that as it may, they were enjoying a comfortable evening between friends when one of the “right” people showed up. Unfortunately.

“Good evening, Molly,” Sherlock said with exaggerated politeness, then he turned to her companion, “And you must be my Molly’s friend, Chris, about whom I have heard absolutely nothing. Pleased to meet you!” He spoke with a rather judgemental tone, indicating rather obviously that he was anything but pleased, as he made himself at home, sitting himself down in a chair which he had stolen from a nearby table.

“You must be Sherlock Holmes. I’ve heard a great deal about you, Mr. Holmes!”, the man smiled pleasantly, and turned to nod his head at Molly, who rolled her eyes rather dramatically. “May I ask why you’ve joined us this evening?”

“Just a bit curious to see the man for whom Dr. Hooper cancelled our previous engagement. I don’t usually take kindly to playing second fiddle, Mr, uh, Higgins, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t realize Molly had other plans, Mr. Holmes. Or that she had a, what would you call yourself, then, her, uh, ‘significant other’?” The man was obviously enjoying teasing the detective, and Molly.

Sherlock Holmes, world’s only consulting detective, and certainly no victim of a state of low self-esteem, sat a bit straighter in his chair, fixed the smaller man with an icy glare, and said, ”Do you in any way judge me to be insignificant, Mr. Higgins?”

“No, not, not all all!”, the man said with a smile. “But I must ask, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“I want you to leave, Mr. Higgins. The sooner the better!”

“But I’m afraid we’ve just ordered…”

“I shall be more than happy to keep Dr. Hooper company. I have done so many times in the past, and will continue to do so.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” Molly said in a voice not unreminiscent of his mother’s. “You are being extremely rude! Please leave!”

But Chris Higgins was beginning to see some humor in the situation, and was smiling as he said to his about to be former dinner companion, “Not to worry, Molly. I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner with Mr. Holmes. I think I need to call someone. Maybe we can both come out winners!” And with that, he rose from his seat, walked around the table to where Molly sat, kissed her on the cheek and said, “I’ll let you know how it goes, eh? Maybe you can come to my wedding?” And, as he left, Sherlock could have sworn he heard him snicker.

“So, Molly, what are we having for supper?”

“I ordered the lobster, Sherlock, you can eat shite and die, as far as I’m concerned.”

The intruder made a tsk-tsk sound. “Such language for such an elegant venue, Molly, Really!” He then looked at her appraisingly. “You’re obviously angry, yet you have made no move to leave.”

“I really like lobster!”

“Well, since the order has already been placed, what am I having?””

Molly made a bit of a face. “Farmhouse veal loin!”

“You let him order veal, Molly, even with your attitude about little baby cows? You should be grateful I rescued you! Heaven knows what else the scoundrel may have talked you into!”

“Just shut up, Sherlock, and enjoy the very expensive meal for which you are now paying! Not to mention the wine! Shall we order another bottle?”

“I must say, you’re taking this whole thing rather well, Molly. I half expected to get slapped, or something…”

“As you said, it’s a rather elegant establishment. Perhaps I’m just waiting until we leave.” Molly finished her appetizer, and excused herself to go to the ladies, leaving Sherlock to wonder if she would even return. But return she did, to sit at the table in silence while they awaited the main course, causing Sherlock to become more and more uncomfortable by the minute. When the waiter approached with the entrees, Molly immediately noticed that Sherlock’s main course was filet of beef Rossini, not the veal which Chris had previously ordered. Almost against her will, she smiled at his thoughtfulness, saying, “I see you changed your oder, Sherlock. No baby cow,  
huh?”

“No, Molly, I decided to go with the more mature version. The chef assured me that this particular cow had lived a long and happy life, surrounded by friends and family, and had passed away peacefully in its sleep! Satisfied? Unless you object to the baby carrots served on the side? Or the petit pois?” The pathologist giggled just a bit, enough to dissolve some of the tension between them, and Sherlock took the opportunity to continue. “I really am sorry, Molly. I behaved abominably. I know you may find this hard to believe, but sometimes nowadays I can tell all by myself when I do something ‘not good’, without having John point it out.”

“You really can be an insufferable git at times, Sherlock.” Molly actually moved her gaze upward from her plate to look him squarely in the eye, perhaps searching for some sign of real remorse, and she must have found it there, for something gave her the courage to continue on, saying, “But I love you anyway.”

Sherlock Holmes breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god, Molly. I really thought I had blown it there for a moment.” He then reached across the table to take her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss gently in her fingertips. “Would you mind if we had our dessert packaged to go? We could have chocolate gateau and red wine in bed…”

“Two of my three favorite things, Sherlock.”

“Hopefully, I will prove to be the third! But we’ll have to go to your place. When I left Baker Street, John and Mycroft were working on the first bottle of Scotch, and Mary and Mrs. Hudson were cooing over Claire, and deploring the state of romance in this country. They are probably all still there, debating various points about our relationship, and waiting to see if I am delivered home in a body bag. The only thing everyone agreed on was that you deserved to meet a nice young man…”

‘Well, Sherlock, you are somewhat young...ish…” Molly smiled, and winked across the table at the exasperating and adorable who she loved more than anything, knowing that she was possibly the only person in the world who knew how truly nice he could be.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit my blog at HooperandHolmes.wordpress.com


End file.
